"You can't play the game if you're afraid to get your hands dirty."
— Ruthless People by J.J. McAvoy
I am drifting in and out of listening to the conversation the Police officer is having with Ibrahim and Yusuf.
Kamsir is still sitting lifelessly on the bed, and the crowd of domestic staff loitering by the door has been dispersed.
I look again at my husband's body, sprawled on the floor, soiled with blood, vomit, and if the smell in the room is anything to go by, feaces.
What a sad, shameful, and ungraceful way to go!
And I loved it!!!
"But, you had already left," I say, finally finding my voice. "You left in the morning, under very unpleasant circumstances. How come you were around to have wine with him late at night? I saw him with kamir at about 8pm, and you weren't with them."
All eyes turn to me, bewildered, until Ibrahim points at his chest, "Are you talking to me?"
"What unpleasant circumstances?" the officer asks.
"Nothing. It was just a small family misunderstanding," kamsir answers, throwing me a dirty look.
"That's why I came back. To make peace with him," Ibrahim answers. "I wasn't happy with what happened between myself and the old man, and also," he pats Yusuf on the shoulder, "my brother here. So, I came back to make peace. Dad was happy to see me and invited us up to his room to have a few drinks. Isn't that right, Yusuf ?"
Yusuf nods. "It's true."
The officer nods and scribbles. "So, you two left him here hale and hearty?"
"Well, I did," Ibrahim says. "I left him with Yusuf, so Lord knows what happened afterwards."
"After the heated argument you had with Dad, you mean," Yusuf retorts. "Since we're going into specifics, we might as well drill down to the small details."
"My father and I were still passionate about what happened earlier in the day, and I guess the wine made us more loose-lipped than we ordinarily would have been," Ibrahim answers. "We said things we shouldn't have said, it got heated, and I left."
"But you remained here on the ranch?" the officer probes.
"It was well past midnight. A bit late to drive back to my estate, don't you think?"
The sound of a van driving in breaks the flow of questions.
"It's the ambulance," Yusuf says, and I can hear in his voice the weight of the looming responsibility of having to take his father to the morgue.
"My brothers and I have to do the needful, Sergeant,"Ibrahim says. "Any longer, and the body will start to decompose. You can see that his widowed wife is already traumatised as it is."
"No problem, Sir. My apologies, Sir," the officer answered, and I was dismayed to hear the reverence in his voice.
If he too is afraid of Ibrahim , where on earth can this investigation go?
"We can continue later. One of my men will escort you to the mortuary, while the rest of us remain here to talk to the staff." He turns to the head of security.
" Nobody comes into the compound, and nobody goes out, you understand?"
The distraught guard nods obediently, clearly wishing the whole nightmare away.
It feels like an out-of-body experience, especially when the minister's body is loaded on a stretcher and taken out of the room, closely followed by Ibrahim and kamir.
Kamsir surprisingly makes no move to go with them.
I leave him in the room as I walk behind my stepsons, who, in turn, walk behind the body.
Madam Maria is no longer crying on the staircase, and I overhear someone say she has been sedated to sleep.
The death of her benefactor has hit her hard, and understandably so.
"No, you don't need to come with us, zeynep," Yusuf says, as I follow them outside. "ibrahim and I will handle this," he beckons one of the maids.
"Please, see to it that she has a shower and some food, okay?"
But I have no intention to do either.
"Just get my housecoat," I say to her, once the ambulance has driven off.
There is no way I'm going to retreat to my room, pulling myself away from the rest, not with a killer on the loose.
"Mrs. Omar, once again, I'm very sorry for your loss," the officer says, walking up behind me. "Is there anywhere we can talk?"
The maid returns with my housecoat at that point, and I shrug into it. "Sure. Come this way."
I lead him to the living room, past the dour-faced domestic staff.
It is not manufactured grief that they feel.
He might not have been the kindest man in the world, but the minister treated his staff well and was loved by them.
His death is a real blow to the people who have worked for him for years, many of whom for decades.
"You said you retired early?" the officer asks, once we are seated.
I nod. "I actually retired to my room much earlier in the day. I guess it's no secret that there was…an incident in the house that day. I left for my room shortly after, and only came out to look for something to eat at about eight in the evening."
"And you saw minister Omar then?"
"He was talking with his last son in the lounge near my bedroom," I answered.
"And then you went to bed immediately after?"
"Yes," I say, not bothering to tell him how the exchange had been so bad, I hadn't even bothered with food after all.
Kamsir walks into the room to join us, still looking like someone in a trance.
The officer looks up and nods to acknowledge his presence.
"I was just telling him that I saw you and your father talking last night, before I went to bed," I say to him.
Is it my imagination, or is there a flicker in his eyes?
"Yes. Yes, she did," he confirms, sitting beside me.
"And she went straight to bed afterwards?" the officer asks him, and I find it offensive that my word is not good enough for him.
"I didn't see her again, so I reckon so," kamsir answers.
"But then at night, you…erm…you came downstairs?" the officer asks me.
"I have had a sleepwalking problem for years," I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Everybody knows this. Not just here in the ranch, but probably the entire city after all the media never really minds their business."
"So sorry, Ma. I didn't mean to offend," he apologises profusely. "I was just trying to ascertain your whereabouts, that's all."
Just then, one of the other policemen drags in one of the cooks, Evans . "Sir, we just found out the cook is a relative of the minister's former wife."
Kamir's head shoots up in surprise. "what?"
I stare at Evans in surprise. Very quiet and mild-mannered, he was hired a few months before, when one of the cooks left for a job in an exclusive hotel. "Is that true?"
Evan's head remains bowed, his sobs racking his entire body.
"Take him away from here," the officer orders, before turning to look at kamsir and me. "Let me go and talk to the staff. Take heart. Today is a very sad day indeed, not only for You but for the country."
He gets up and walks out of the room, just as I see, from the window, his men bundling Evans into their van.
Even though it is an outrage that the minister's former wife's relative has infiltrated our household, I find it difficult to believe that the timid cook is the culprit.
Even after her disgraceful departure from this household, the last time I saw her the Minister threw money on the floor and she was forced to pick it and leave but not before giving me pityful glance.
After our last encounter 20 years ago, we never heard from her again.
I don't know if she and the minister ever reached a private financial arrangement, but what I do know is that she never set foot in the ranch again.
" she sent her relative here, and he has been cooking my father's food? Unbelievable!" kamir exclaims.
"Madam Maria is the only one who cooks…" I am dismayed to realise that it is now past tense. "…cooked for your father. Evans and Pat cook for everyone else. To be honest, I'm not sure why his association with her should make him guilty."
Kamsir shrugs.
"You never know. Why would he leave his place and come all the way to Boston, to the same house that sent his family member away in disgrace, to find work? He couldn't get a job elsewhere?"
I say nothing in response, and we just sit in silence for a few minutes.
"Look, zeynep, I'm sorry for shouting at you earlier. I'm really sorry for all the awful things I said…"
"You mean accusing me and my 'lovers' of murdering your father?" I retort, angered afresh.
"I wasn't thinking straight. Waking up to find my father dead, a man I spoke with just last night, really hit me hard. I'm so sorry," he says, before moving closer to me.
"And thank you for standing up for me last night. It means a lot."
I look at him, unable to mask my suspicion, wondering where this friendliness is coming from after so many years of enmity.
"Zeynep, did you see those wounds on Ibrahim's hands? All those bruises?" he asks, his voice a conspiratory whisper. "I think he went back to Dad's room after Yusuf left last night. I think he's the one who killed him. You heard all the horrible things he said to him in the morning, how he's more useful dead than alive. You heard, didn't you?"
I nod slowly, not quite knowing what to say nor how to react.
Yes, I too have noticed Ibrahim's hand wounds, but I am reluctant to admit it to his brother, who could just be baiting me for all I know.
"I'm going to give him time to own up, but if he doesn't, I'll have no choice but to alert the police," he continued.
At this point, I have had enough.
"Please excuse me, I need to go and clean up," I say, rising to my feet.
"I think you should do the same. It's going to be a very long day."
And I am right. Even though nobody is allowed into or out of the premises, the police remained, interviewing…no…interrogating every single person on the property.